Books.. The wonderful elixir of love, life and everything that connects them.
Books.. The wonder potion that transports you to any place on Earth and beyond, in the time it may take you to blink. Just like that.
Books.. Those thin parchments containing the magic of all the worlds, known and unknown.
Books.. The stories of people and places and events that you may believe you know but never truly know.
Books.. Weaving and binding us all in essence, even though we have never met, maybe never will.
Today is World Book Day ladies and gentlemen. Truly our day. And although every day is Book Day for us Book Dragons, but let us acknowledge and appreciate these tiny portals of our souls even more today!
The day I learned not to bother about whatever was happening with you was the day I realized, that my heart is brave to strike off that one thing which I had kept on the highest pedestal since so long. That day I accepted that what’s not meant to happen, no matter how hard I try, no matter how far I run, will not happen. And practically speaking, there is no loss in losing what was never yours, there is no defeat in stepping outside, empty-handed, there is no guilt in giving up on something which never held on to you.
That day I understood that my heart isn’t a graveyard of your memories, where I had buried each one of them chronologically. My heart is certainly not a garden of remembrance where you visit once in a blue moon to offer your condolences to my fallen hopes.
The day your words managed to pierce through the walls of my delicate heart, which were once filled with love, only for you; that day itself you managed to earn my ignorance. From that day itself, your existence never really mattered to me, anymore. So, congrats you have permanently destroyed a perpetual source of love. You have been successful in pushing away a pair of palms that, whenever folded, prayed for you. You successfully lost each and every wish that was meant only for you.
But, forget not that everything, good or bad, eventually comes to an end. So will this, one day. For now, I am letting it burn, our unfinished book, I don’t remember what page number were we at, I don’t remember what chapter had I started before you tore it apart. Neither do I want to remember. I just hope you have a happy and a successful life.
Oliver is born in a workhouse in a small town near London, England in the early part of the 19th century. His mother dies almost immediately after his birth.
Oliver is brought up at a “child farm” in the country until he is about eight years old. At this point, the parish officials running the child farm decide it’s time for him to start working, and they send him back to the workhouse. But Oliver commits the offence of asking for more food when he is close to starving, so the parish officials offer five pounds to anyone who’s willing to take Oliver on as an apprentice. The parish officials eventually send Oliver off with a coffin-maker.
Oliver gets in trouble there and after being abused some more decides to set out for London on foot.
He falls into wrong hands and is wrongfully accused of pick pocketing a gentleman who later takes kindly to him and takes him to his home and cares for him
The thieves manage to abduct Oliver once more and try to turn him into a criminal and on one of his assignments is badly injured.
Fortunately, Oliver is picked up by the people who shot him, a family that turns out to be as nice as Mr. Brownlow.
While Fagin and the criminals distress, Oliver learns to read and write with his new friends, the Maylies. He’s also reunited with his first friend, Mr. Brownlow.
(Adapted – Oliver Twist by Charles Dickens)
–Shades Of Life